Ten Steps to Wellness
by Dana Katherine Scully
Summary: Doggett recalls his journey with Reyes to let go of the ghost of his son.


Title: Ten Steps to Wellness  
  
Author: Dana Katherine Scully  
  
Classification: Doggett/Reyes Romance  
  
Spoilers: Daemonicus, Empedocles, 4-D  
  
Description: Monica Reyes helps John Doggett to face his  
demons and let his son go.  
  
Inspiration: I had to include this because it is rarely ever  
this way. My English teacher actually suggested writing  
about the X-Files for a creative writing assignment we were  
given. The catch was, it HAD to be called Ten Steps to  
Wellness. So, the title was Debby's (my English teacher)  
idea, but the plot and everything else was mine. Thanks  
Debby!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Doggett and Reyes, they belong to  
Fox, Ten Thirteen etc. No copyright infringement intended.  
  
2004  
  
Special Agent John Doggett stood in the middle of a wide  
field, the rain soaking him to the skin and making him  
shiver with cold and something else, something more  
sinister. The sky was full of angry storm clouds, the  
promise of lightening was in the air, and the dark of  
midnight was all encompassing. The only light came from a  
street light in the adjacent cul-de-sac, where Agent Monica  
Reyes stood looking up at the cloudy sky, her swollen belly  
illuminated by moonlight. They didn't speak; couldn't speak.  
It was all Agent Doggett could do to stand up straight.  
Memories of the past flew through his brain and flashed  
behind his closed eyelids; memories of all the steps he'd  
taken to get to this point.  
  
Memories of his son Luke's body thrown onto the cold hard  
ground upon which he now stood, and of the vision that he  
and Monica had experienced of the body as ashes. Memories of  
his meeting Agent Reyes again in 1998 after 4 years of  
grieving for his son: of that day that she took him to her  
apartment and set the whole thing in motion. "John, promise  
me you'll think about [Luke] tonight. Just tonight, and then  
if you never do again that's fine." He remembered his  
assignment to the X-Files in 2001, when he'd loved Agent  
Scully, and feared for her baby as he had feared for his. He  
recalled that case of "daemonic possession" when Monica had  
gently wiped the vomit from his face after an encounter with  
the mentally ill professor Kobold, and then winced as he  
recalled the hurt expression on her face when he'd brushed  
her off. He recalled the feel of her thumb at the corner of  
his mouth a month later, and then her arms around him after  
a very bizarre event, when one moment she'd gone to the  
kitchen to get plates and then he'd walked in and found her  
crying there, and he remembered thinking a that very moment  
that only together could they truly get well. Then his  
memories began to take a far darker turn.  
  
He remembered when he'd been kidnaped, and his death dangled  
in front of Monica's face as his son's had been dangled in  
front of his. He'd refused to give in to the humiliating  
demands his captors had made of him, and was brutally beaten  
at gunpoint. They'd sent the tape to Monica, who had  
immediately driven out alone to save him, with no backup and  
all the money in her bank account in an envelope. They'd  
refused her ransom and brutally beaten her too, right in  
front of an incapacitated John who nearly killed himself for  
not being able to do anything. Then they'd tied them  
together in a small room, wearing nothing but their  
underwear, and left them there (they presumed) to die. But  
somehow they'd managed to hold on, and when their captors  
came back to throw the bodies out, John and Monica had taken  
them by surprise, and managed to escape with their feet  
untied. They left their captors badly injured, one with a  
broken leg and the other with a serious head injury, and had  
escaped into the woods wearing only their undergarments.  
With their hands tied together they couldn't really go their  
separate ways to think and grieve, so they'd been forced to  
talk through their feelings of helplessness and guilt with  
each other. After they'd untied their hands, they ran out to  
the car shivering with the cold, hot-wired it, and John  
drove them to a small hotel in the area. When they'd patched  
each other up as well as they could and dressed in the hotel  
bathrobes, they had held each other for nearly three hours:  
just held each other, and felt the strength of their bond,  
of the love that neither one of them could bring themselves  
to acknowledge. In those moments, he knew that he couldn't  
give up on Luke's killer, because he had seen how far Monica  
would go for him.  
  
He remembered her tears on that night, when they'd slept  
together in an attempt to heal the other's pain after their  
captivity, and then had fought about their future together,  
because the fact that he could love another woman as deeply  
as he loved her scared him half to death. He also remembered  
what had happened after that argument, when she'd snuck into  
his room as (she thought) he slept and curled up against his  
bare back in her underwear. She had buried her face in his  
neck and kissed it, tears streaming down her face onto his  
bare skin. He'd pretended to be asleep as she flipped her  
hair back over her shoulder and pressed her forehead against  
his back, her tears slowing. And then he'd rolled over to  
face her. He recalled her shocked little gasp and the "deer-  
in-the-headlights" expression in her big brown eyes, but  
when he'd place a little kiss on the tip of her nose and  
brought his forehead to hers, she had relaxed, and started  
to cry again. He'd wrapped his arms around her waist and  
gently pulled her closer to him, felt her heart beat against  
his own, and thought, My God over and over again. They had  
lain together like that for what seemed like an eternity,  
and then Monica had started to giggle quietly. "What?" he'd  
asked, a little offended. She'd pointed underneath the  
sheets and giggled again, her face turning red. "Oh that,"  
he'd said, a touch of amusement finding its way into his  
voice. "That can be remedied." That night had begun a long,  
passionate, loving, but turbulent relationship between them,  
and he knew that without that relationship he'd never have  
made it to this point.   
  
A year after the incident, the two of them were curled up  
together in front of the television in Monica's apartment,  
watching a movie about child abduction. They'd found Luke's  
killer the week before. He had been dead since two day's  
after Luke's death. John had strenuously objected to  
watching the film, but Monica had held firm in her belief  
that he needed to be encouraged to let Luke's spirit go  
free, and insisted. So she held him when he cringed, and  
cried with him when the little girl in the film was found  
murdered in a field. After the movie, she'd made him some  
tea, and they'd sat on her bed and talked about Luke. It was  
the first time since Luke's death that he'd been able to  
talk about his son without crying. John and Monica had  
resolved to help each other recover, and then they'd  
unwittingly created the child that she now carried.   
  
And now they were back in the field where it began, the  
product of their union growing in Monica's swollen belly as  
she slowly walked towards him. "John!" she called, and he  
turned to watch her approach. And in that moment, he saw in  
her and their child his past and his future: the ties that  
bound all of them together in an endless circle. She reached  
his side and took his hand in hers', placing it gently at  
the curve of her belly. She didn't have to speak as the baby  
moved beneath his hand; her eyes told the story of what she  
saw happen to John. He was saying goodbye to his son: to the  
spirit that loomed behind him always, and letting him fly.  
As he was allowing the spirit of their unborn child to take  
the place of his long-lost son, in his heart and in his  
soul, Monica felt her heart swell with pride and love for  
the father of her child. After a moment, his eyes focused  
back on hers, and he whispered, "I love you:" to whom he  
didn't quite know. A bolt of lightening illuminated their  
faces for a split second, and she smiled at him and squeezed  
his hand. "Goodbye Luke," she called, smiling as she waved  
to the ghost she imagined flying off into the sky. John  
turned his head to watch, and as the lightening struck  
again, he turned to her and smiled. "C'mon, let's go get  
some coco." They walked back to their car, hands clasped, as  
a final bolt of lightening illuminated the soaring ghost of  
Luke John Doggett for the last time. 


End file.
